Wrong Place, Right Time
by bhanesidhe
Summary: Prompt/Request; "Stiles and Lydia babysitting for friends." [helping stydia-fanfiction on tumblr fill 100 requests in before S5 premiere (in 1 day). this is 3rd of 3 prompts.]


Title: Wrong Place, Right Time

Description: Stiles and Lydia babysitting for friends.

Rating: K

Genre: Slice of Life

* * *

When a cry ran throughout the Sheriff's station followed by the sound of crashing furniture, Lydia's hyper vigilance attributed it to a villainous spirit or a mercenary's attack. She barely considered whether to call for the officers at the front desk or assume it was better left to her particular expertise. She could make out figures through the venetian blinds separating the Chief's office from the bull pen.

Although Lydia Martin was loathed to admit it, she had a reputation for being in the wrong place at the right time.

"Hello?" she asked turning the doorknob.

The door yanked open a few inches revealing a girl about four feet tall, tanned skin with shoulder length shaggy light-brown hair and pale-blue eyes.

"Hello," the girl all but demanded then slammed the door shut, nearly bashing Lydia's hand.

Lydia was left curious but wordless.

"Hold on! Jeez, come on, move out of the way already!" Stiles had a lot of words to say and loudly, followed by the sound of objects falling and the little girl's laughter.

Lydia took a large step back and considered how quickly she could leave the station before Stiles could reach to the office door but morbid fascination glued her feet to their spot.

"But you told me to hold on!" the little girl yelled back.

"Not you!" he hissed. The door swung open revealing Stiles, his hoodie yanked half-off, hair wild and panting as if he'd run a marathon.

"Stiles?" Lydia blinked back in surprise. She had seen him in some horrible states, this ranked under ' _possessed by evil_ ' but above being ' _knocked out by an engine parts_ '.

"Quick, get in here," he gripped her wrist and pulled her in but Lydia's humor evaporated when he locked the door behind her. "I need your help. I'm being attacked," he yanked himself together, looking like a marionette tangled in his own string.

"He started it!" exclaimed a disembodied voice.

"I did not- that is not the point," Stiles got back on track.

"What is going on in here? It sounded like-" Lydia paused, rethinking a more family-friendly euphemism.

"Sounded like what? Was it like 'Such a Clatter' or like 'A-Knock-Knock-Knocking'?" an inquisitive whisper came from the opposite side of the Chief's desk, followed by a shaggy head of hair.

"No. Quiet, Dr Seuss," Stiles swiped teasingly at her and turned back.

Lydia kept her eyes on the girl, almost expecting her to spring for an attack. Her little eyes seemed to threaten as much.

Lydia opted for directness, "Stiles, who is that?"

"' _That_ ' is a monster," he picked up a knocked over chair, it wobbled menacingly.

"roar," the troublemaker did not in fact roar. She pronounced it more sarcastically than anything else.

"Hey! Explain." Lydia waved her hand in front of Stiles face, "you've got ten seconds."

"See, its ' _Take Your Kid To Work Day_ '" he spread his hands out in front of her in a pleading gesture.

"She's not your kid. Six seconds."

"She's Deputy Cordova's daughter but," his voice went lower "everyone got called away to a... a possible 187."

"A 187?" confused, Lydia shook her head.

"A murder?" her little head popped up again as she climbed half over the desk, wearing a wide grin.

Stiles sucked in a pained breath, "they just, they had a staff lunch at the place over… on 187th street," he rambled.

"Liar," she snapped and went back to exploring.

Stiles gnawed on his lower lip and dropped onto the wobbling chair. He ran his hands over his face hard enough to comically distort his features; the depiction of ' _ready to explode_ '.

"Stiles, she's the kid of an officer," Lydia condescended gently. "They're a special breed of sociopath."

"Hey!" was Stiles gapped mouth come back, "nope, I got nothing."

Lydia expected as much. "I'll leave you both to it," she said with a smirk, clutched her bag and pushed to move passed.

"Please help?" he dove back into her path, "I don't know what to do with it."

"Why would I know?" she protested indignantly.

"Because, you know, you've got the whole," he gestured between Lydia and the girl, with some broader hand movements as though he were flagging down a plane, "thing going on."

"Meaning what?" her tone dropped in atmospheric pressure.

"youmightbeabletopickaparthowherbrainworksor-"

Lydia tuned out the act of Stiles digging his own grave and skimmed the room's disarray; the desk had clearly been climbed unto and from the looks of it camped under. She noticed on the shelves only the containers (e.g. mugs, space organizers, penholders, planters) had been moved or overturned. As well as the way the desk had been taken apart, nothing thrown off of it but everything picked up and shifted elsewhere.

"Stiles, I'm pretty sure she's trying to get into your Dad's locked files."

"What? Wai-Why?"

"I've got it!" the kid yelled from across the room, producing triumphantly her well scavenged prize; his Father's keys. She whipped them out from a coffee cup and dove back under the Chief's desk.

"Holy Hell!" Stiles jumped forward, reaching as she evaded him. Lydia stood back, not frightened but startled with their speed. He came from the flank, she would shift the Chief's chair and knock him back to slip her tiny hand out and try to stab this key into that lock from this angle. He would scramble over the desk, she would crane her spidery limbs underneath and crammed this differently shaped key at this differently shaped angle into the very same lock. Over. And over.

Suddenly, Lydia understood the unholy noises. Even Stiles mouthing the words ' _HELP ME_ ' had a sound effect created for itself. Lydia inched toward the little girl, examining her coolly.

"What do you think you're going to steal from the Chief's desk?"

"I'm not trying to steal!" she grunted, scuttling around and clearly not afraid of Lydia. "I'll put whatever back. I just need something to defeat this- Big (Kick) Stink (Kick) Pile (Kick)!" Stiles made a broad pounce onto the chair only after being kicked several times as punctuation.

"She couldn't mean you, could she?" Lydia smirked at Stiles neared, (correction, face-planted).

"'s fine, she calls me that beca-"

"Because it's a better nickname than Stiles?" Lydia helped him to his feet.

"This is helping? Is this you helping me?" he came back and immediately bit his lip apologetically when it stopped her from dusting him off.

Lydia rolled her eyes and leaned on the desk, placing her hand on the far corner over the key hole.

"Hello again," pale-blue eyes fixed on Lydia from over the edge of the desk.

"Hello again," Lydia grinned, her body language spoke volumes and the little girl deflated at her loss of the high-ground. "You're not going to find anything in there to defeat your pile of-"

"I'm a Stink Pile-" Stiles interrupted from behind Lydia, followed by a snort of giggles from before her.

Lydia held a single finger toward Stiles in warning "-besides, as you can see, he defeats himself."

Stiles looked offended but Lydia kept her gaze on the girl.

"Anyway, they keep the real ammunition locked up in the back. You're only going to find paperwork in the desk," Lydia shrugged.

"Not even a super-secret one?"

"No," Lydia's tone became smug as she put out her hand palm up. With a sigh the girl dropped the keys onto it.

"What about something to make him just do what I say?"

"Why? What are you saying he should do?"

"mMm. Stuff."

Stiles sat back onto the wobbly seat, the triumph on his face was unbearable. Lydia glanced over at the girl, propped up on the edge of the desk, legs dangling, fingers fidgeting and face grinding in schemes.

"Do you want me to show you the right way to shoot a rubber-band?" Lydia proposed. Stiles chair froze mid-swivel.

"Yes, please!"

* * *

Stiles shadowed Lydia while she rummaged through the office supply closet.

"How does teaching this little reprobate to shoot projectiles at me qualify as helping?" he asked hovering over her shoulder.

"Did I agree to help you though?" she continued to poke around. "Stiles, what exactly did you do to piss her off?"

"Me?" Stiles clutched his chest in exaggerated offense, "Why would you assume-"

"She's about eight and you're you," she knelt to sift through a drawer filled with staples, post-its and paper clips.

"I'm kind of, definitely, pretty sure," Stiles took a large swallow of air before trying to finish the sentence, "it has something to do with a thing I won't give her?"

Lydia pulled open a rubber-band pouch and tested the resistance of a single band by aiming it at Stiles. "Do you owe something to that little girl?"

"No!" flinching, he put his hands up, "refusing someone something doesn't make you a bad person!" he snatched the rubber-band away.

"Yes, but how did you tell her you weren't giving her what she wanted?" she stood to face him.

"I... sort of don't remember," his mouth worked extra hard on explaining the unexplainable. Every part of this conversation felt foreign to him.

"You don't remember how you disappointed a child. Do you even know what you're doing?" Lydia felt surprised at how angry she sounded. She turned away and slammed the supply closet shut and felt a little better for it.

"I think so," Stiles all but whined, "I thought I'd get you to help me, not her."

"You thought I would be helpful because I'm a girl," she hissed.

"What?!" Stiles eyes went wide in shock, "No. I thought you would be helpful because you know..." a long pause followed, as he realized maybe thinking things through would be an asset especially before speaking, "you've taken care of small animals, like your pet dog..." it sounded like a question.

Lydia's face read of disbelief. Worse yet, she did believe him which left her with no rebuttal at all.

"I can hear you, you know," came a weedy voice from all the way in the Chief's Office.

"I know you can!" Stiles whipped from Lydia prying gaze and to the matching glare with the girl swiveling in the wobbly chair. Stiles turned back to Lydia and whispered, "I totally didn't know."

"Stiles, she might be less hostile if you took her outside," she withdrew her edginess.

"What? Like steal her?"

"Like go to the park," Lydia tucked the baggy into her purse.

The little girl pointed finger-guns and made _bang-bang_ sound effects toward a half dozen targets around her, not the least of which was Stiles.

"Things have taken a turn," Stiles mumbled anxiously.

"You don't know the half of it," Lydia grinned, she mouthed _bang-bang_ stretching another rubber-band along her pointer finger.

* * *

"Look, kid," Stiles took a deep breath and approached the girl, "promise to behave and I'll take you to a park. Whichever you want, where you can climb all the trees you like, shoot rubber-bands all you want... at all the things that aren't illegal-"

"That's not what I want."

"Well, they are things you like," he strained through clenched teeth.

"Yeah," she stopped swiveling and stared at him totally focused on deal making, "but there's an easier thing I want." Stiles neared her and they glared in unison.

"What is it you _do_ want?" inconvenienced by their antics, Lydia cut through their feigned tension. Stiles practically tripped over the whiplash of it, waving a hand frantic for Lydia not to proceed which she pointedly ignored.

"Come on, it's not that big of a deal. Please don't! Don't. Do it and you're dead to me!" came a litany of word vomit in a tone Lydia was used to tuning out.

"I want to wear his Batman T-Shirt!"

"Deal but you can't keep it" Lydia heaved a sigh, barely audible over the act of Stiles actually stomping.

The word traitor never sounded so scandalized, "fine. But I'm never calling her Batman."

"Lydia?" the girl insisted, "We can still go to the park, right?"

* * *

"You don't use the thumb to aim," Lydia corrected. "Even if it looks like crosshairs, use the pointer finger."

"Pointer, like to point," the girl responded, the phrase 'DUH' dangled in the air.

"Well, yes," Lydia breathed deeply through her nose and tried again, calmer. "Release the pinky whenever you're ready." The kid took even longer realigning her vision over her extended finger where the rubber-band stretched. Lydia took another breath, "whenever you're ready."

"Alright, I got it," she snapped and so went the rubber-band. It whipped through the air and hit a pine cone. After a second of spinning it propelled off its branch. "It work, it totally worked! I mean I knew I'd do it." She rushed forward to retrieve her rubber-band, scouring up and over greenery. "You must shoot things all the time."

"No," Lydia smirked, folding her hands primly on her lap, "I don't need to hit things to get my point across."

She came over to Lydia and sized her up "but you're good at it."

"I'm good at lots of things," she shrugged.

The girl frowned and plopped beside Lydia on the bench, "I'm not good at anything."

Lydia plucked the rubber-band from her hand. She aimed for a dark mark in tree trunk the shape of a distorted smiley face. "I'm not too sure about that," she fired and hit it off center. She took the packet of rubber-bands from her purse, gave the kid a few and kept some for herself. "You're sharp. You pick up on things very quickly and you have Stiles wrapped around your finger."

"No, he still calls me Robin," she sounded bitter.

"That's because it's your name."

"Yeah, maybe," Robin shrugged and she let off the rubber-band. She hit the spot Lydia aimed for in the center. "But I like Batman," made evident by wearing, practically swimming in Stiles' black T-Shirt, with a yellow Batman emblem.

"Yes, we all know that," Lydia slipped her bag onto her shoulder she headed toward the bushes with Robin.

"Stiles likes Batman," Robin announced, her tone proud then nervous, "Is he your boyfriend?"

"What? No?" Lydia tripped up on her words as well as her step.

"But he does everything you say," Robin challenged.

"Well, yes." Lydia pulled her long hair over one shoulder, narrowed her eyes to focus a shot and then thought better, "I meant no. Don't tell him I said yes."

Robin grinned, "Does that mean I can ask him to be my boyfriend?

"Fire away," Lydia let off a shot and frowned. She missed for the first time. "Why do you want him to be your boyfriend?"

"He's funny," Robin aimed her rubber-band at a squirrel briefly then back at the swirling mark on the tree. "And smart and has like, these nice face things that I like to look at and he's silly too. That's why it's great when he smiles and stuff." She hit the bullseye.

"All true things," Lydia grinned while she retrieved number of extra rubber-bands out of her purse.

"So, I want to boss him around so he can always do that stuff with me," Robin took a few from Lydia's hand. Her eyes look devastatingly hopeful in only the way a delusional' crush would, "like he does them for you."

"That's not why I boss him around," corrected Lydia, giving the girls shoulder a squeeze for comfort. She caught herself again, "and I don't boss him around. I help him, just bossily. We help each other. He helps you too. He has been taking care of you all day."

Robin shrugged and tried to smile, "I guess. It's been real. You're just lucky you get him all the time."

"I've never had him like that," Lydia imagined what it must seem like to Robin, seeing him around the station, existing always in Stiles orbit but just under his radar. She heaved a sigh, "but I understand not wanting to let him go."

Stiles stumbled through the bushes hands outstretched, plastic bags of take-out food dangling off of each hand, hoodie zipped practically up around his ears and covered in brambles and leaves. Lydia didn't see any visible signs of harm but even Robin looked concerned.

"I've brought sandwiches!" Stiles announced in his most heroic voice possible.

Robin started to laugh but didn't move.

"Come on," Lydia waved her over.

"In a minute," Robin answered, returning to aim at pinecones.

Stiles only grimaced toward Lydia and readjusted his hoodie, feeling very vulnerable as the slightest draft left him trembling.

"We're eating now," Lydia insisted, leaving no room for argument.

Robin sulked and climbed out of the green. She grabbed hold of Stiles' arm and headed back toward the benches by the Pond.

"H-how did you do that?" asked Stiles, downright amazed.

"I have a lot of experience with smarts-alecks," Lydia led the way out of the green and onto a path.

* * *

Lydia only noticed when Stiles kept asking Robin if he had gotten her order right over and over again he had been afraid. Not afraid so much as hyperly unsure of himself around Robin, in his attempt to get everything right he became an intense spaz and tripped himself up. Somehow the officers assumed because Stiles was the only other kid around it qualified him enough for a baby-sitter. How very bass ackward.

"I think she likes me now," he whispered mumbled through bite of his Italian sub.

Lydia shrugged, "well, she has been trying to be just like you."

He looked unsure, "then why does she always try to rip my clothes when she sees me?"

"Isn't it obvious," she smirked.

The kid's laughter revealed she had climbed the tree to the nearest right, Stiles never had a chance.

"You're mine, now!" Robin shouted as she leapt and landed with such force Stiles splattered onto the pavement, missing the last patch of soft green by three inches.

* * *

After four hours, playing rubber-band shooting range; Stiles developed rubber-band related bruises on his neck and on the backs of his hands that looked like a fingers, even with his hoodie zipped tight to his collar. Robin was left with a layer dirt, brambles, leaves and twigs from Lydia dropping wood all over her for cheating during their games. Meanwhile Lydia's hair was thoroughly mussed and her dress was covered in grass stains, with tiny tears on the edges from skulking through bushes.

Eventually Stiles took pity on Lydia and called over Robin from where she had climbed onto a low branch of a blue berry tree. She was likely to have stains on her mouth and hands for weeks. "You want me to teach you how to skip stones by the pond?"

"Yes!" she scrambled down him like a ladder.

"I guess you're best-friends now," Lydia's mouthed tugged up at one end, not quite a smirk but cocky enough.

"Technically, Batman and Robin are teammates," Stiles was downright smug.

Unlike teammates, instead of following Stiles detailed instructions on how to skip stones, Robin found some tadpoles and chanted about frog-tails. She even made a song of it. Apparently to this eight-year old the only word in the English language that rhymed with tail was in fact tail. Robin finally gave Stiles back his T-shirt when she decided it was too dirty with pond scum and blueberry stains for her anymore. It wasn't really but Robin didn't want to admit she just wanted to be nice.

"Cordova isn't back, yet…" Lydia came over and explained, "…neither is Parrish."

"I might have to take my sidekick home for dinner, I guess," Stiles tried to sound smooth only his next rock toss sank with a big splash. At the Pond's edge Robin shouted for him to ' _Watch it!_ '

"I still have to wait for Parrish to come back, I can't just leave my ' _For-Supernaturals-Only_ ' research on his desk with his other files where anyone can come across," Lydia pointed out inelegantly.

"I guess we're just going to have to be stuck with you for a while longer," he smirked and tossed the next stone, making it halfway across the pond. Frog clutched in hand, Robin cheered her head off.

Stiles stared at Lydia as she stood quietly beside him, tousled but ready for the next absurdity; she could easily wait for the officers' return at the station or at home but chose to wait it out in the park playing at the fate of an eight-year old armed with rubber-bands.

"You are getting a reputation you know," Stiles grinned and helped pull leaves from Lydia's hair. "Jumping in to save the day and I bet you didn't even hesitate."

"Great, another thing to be known for around the station, maybe I should be the one wearing the Batman T-Shirt," Lydia rolled her eyes, picked up a handful of skipping stones, out skipping his last throw by two.


End file.
